


Risk and Reward

by i_ship_an_armada, ShinySherlock



Series: Crack Fics with Food [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Egg Rolls, Established Relationship, Humor, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_ship_an_armada/pseuds/i_ship_an_armada, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinySherlock/pseuds/ShinySherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John vacationing in the countryside goes about as smoothly as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risk and Reward

**Author's Note:**

> We took three words (cottage, delivery boy, ice pick) and set out to write some silliness.

The rain pounded against the window, and John wondered for the hundredth time if Sherlock’s nose, pressed against the pane, had any feeling left in it. It was cold outside, and it was dark, but Sherlock kept his eyes trained on the path outside as if he were expecting someone. This, of course, would be impossible, considering where they were and the lengths John had taken so they would be unreachable and undisturbed on this, their first real holiday together.

“What are you waiting for?” John asked, pointedly looking up from his tea.

“Nothing.”

John gave him The Eyebrow.

“I may have ordered something.”

Sitting up in his chair, John blustered, “What could you possibly need on our holiday? And who the hell would deliver anything out here in the dead of night anyway?”

Sherlock turned away from the window for an instant, his eyes glittering with delight. “Why, the killer, of course!”

Blinking, John took another sip from his cup, peering at Sherlock over the rim. He didn’t respond as his mind worked, because as far as he knew, they weren’t working on any cases, which was the only reason why he was able to drag Sherlock away from home to this cottage in the middle of nowhere to begin with. What bothered him even more, however, was that he had chosen the cottage for its lack of mobile phone reception. Just how the hell had Sherlock ordered anything in the first place?

He sighed. “This is a _holiday_ , Sherlock. No work, remember? You promised.” The cup was empty and John bent to pour himself another from the teapot on the sidetable, noting with some amusement that Sherlock had replaced his nose on the pane. “All right, you git. _What_ killer?”

Grinning in the way that always made John’s heartbeat stutter, Sherlock turned his face half towards John. “Well, you see, when you chose this godforsaken corner of the planet, I decided to do my research, and discovered there just happens to have been a string of delightful murders leading up to this very night. I’m fairly certain that within the hour, we’ll have a bit of excitement.”

“That wasn’t the sort of excitement I was hoping for,” John grumbled. Sherlock turned away from the window finally, and, in his unfairly elegant and sinuous way, walked over to John. He slid his hand to John’s neck, pulling him up from the chair, and he kissed him, a sweet, languorous kiss that promised so much more.

When they broke for air, John looked up into Sherlock’s silver blue eyes and smiled.

“Now,” Sherlock began. “I need you to go outside and climb up that tree right above the front door.”

John hung his head for a moment, wondering what it would be like to love someone who liked to do normal things like watch telly and have a quiet supper together. Boring, he supposed.

“Sherlock. It’s pouring outside.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Astute observation, John.” He pushed at John’s chest. “But I need you to be ready."

With a grumble, John straightened and considered resorting to drastic measures to distract Sherlock. Sod the killer. This was their holiday and he was significantly disappointed they weren’t already in bed as it was. He gave Sherlock The Look.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “No, no, no. No time for that,” he said, and John frowned. Perhaps he also pouted. Sherlock seemed to take pity on him, drawing him close, pressing himself against him just so, and John melted into his arms as Sherlock brought his lips close to John’s ear. “Just think how good it will be after confronting the killer, tackling him to the ground, the excitement coursing through your veins.”

Helpless when Sherlock used that voice against him, John sighed. “Fine. All right.”

Nearly jumping for joy, Sherlock spun around and pressed his nose to the glass once more.

“But I’m not leaving you down here unarmed.”

Sherlock flicked a hand at him. “Fine.”

Given that Sherlock didn’t move, John took it upon himself to rummage through the cottage until he found something that might serve as a weapon. In the drawer by the sink, he found an acceptable tool and stalked over to Sherlock, placing it in his hand.

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock said with approval, his hand grasping the handle. “That’ll do.” He waved John off, his eyes riveted to the path outside. “Go, quickly, before he arrives!”

“What, exactly, am I looking for?” It would be helpful if John had an idea. He didn’t want to tackle the caretaker or some other hapless citizen.

“A delivery boy.”

John frowned. “A delivery boy,” he repeated. They were an hour out from the nearest town, and that town was populated by a hundred and fifty farmers and their families. When they drove through to get to the cottage, John hadn’t seen anything more than a small market and a petrol station, much less a restaurant that would deliver. “How did--”

Sherlock stopped him with a look, the look that said, _Just bloody do it and don’t ask questions._

John resisted the urge to stick out his tongue, instead grabbing his jacket from the coat tree and shrugging it on over his jumper. He glanced outside, truly regretting not bringing a hat. Or an umbrella. This was going to be miserable.

“You are going to owe me for this,” John groused.

Sherlock let out a deep rumble of a laugh and answered, “Don’t worry, John. I plan to reward you for your efforts.”

A thrum of arousal ran through John at the prospect, and he pursed his lips and nodded, though Sherlock wasn’t looking.

And then he opened the door.

Instantly blasted with an icy sheet of rain, all feelings of anticipation and warmth were also doused, and John’s face fixed itself into a scowl. He stomped through the mud to the damned tree and began to climb, boots slipping against the slickened trunk. He found a perch along a strong limb, fairly directly above the porch. Only then did he think to ask himself what exactly Sherlock wanted him to do from up there.

Another sigh escaped him as he realized what the plan must be. Ridiculous. Dangerous. A plan likely to fail and end in at least one person injured.

A plan that had “Sherlock” written all over it.

John considered scrabbling back down and telling Sherlock exactly what a shit plan it was, but a flash of light caught his eye. A small car was making its way up the muddy road. It stopped at end of the path, and then a slight, shadowy figure was climbing out and walking cautiously up the path to the cottage.

When the figure stepped into the pool of light from the cottage window, it paused, then raised a hand to pull back the slicker’s hood.

It was a boy, no more than fifteen or sixteen, carrying a plastic take-out bag. John could smell the food from where he perched.

Egg rolls. He’d know that scent a mile away. His stomach growled and he was thankful for the pounding of the rain that masked it.

The boy paused and cocked his head, and then turned in a slow circle. John saw he was rather bland in appearance; nothing special about him made him stand out except for his glowing red eyes.

 _What. The. Bloody._ Hell _?_

Well, at least it was something new, because as far as he could recall, he’d never seen _that_ before.

The boy--or whatever it was--sniffed the air like a dog, and John wondered how he could possibly smell anything over the enticing scent of the egg rolls. John wondered if he could wrestle them away from the creature without damaging them, because really, they did smell divine. His stomach grumbled again.

The boy tipped his head up and looked directly at John and bared his sharp, blade-like teeth. John shuddered.

“Hey, mister. Did you order some Chinese?”

Completely startled, John lost his balance, and with an inelegant cry of alarm, fell from the tree like a stone. That he landed half upon the boy--demon? werewolf?--was pure luck, and they both collasped to the ground in a heap. Thankfully, the bag of egg rolls had survived intact.

“Sherlock!” John bellowed, scrambling up to his feet.

“Jesus Christ, mate, take it easy!” the boy complained, standing up and rubbing at his hip.

Unable to contain the slightly panicked squeak his voice had become, John nonetheless demanded, “What the hell _are_ you?”

At that moment, thunder crashed above and Sherlock tore open the door with a dramatic flourish, wielding the ice pick high above his head as his dressing gown fluttered around him like a cape. John barely had taken a breath before Sherlock frowned and lowered his hand.

“No, no.” Sherlock pointed at the boy. “Red contacts, fake teeth. All wrong.”

John was panting now from adrenalin, and his eyes darted back and forth between Sherlock and the boy.

“Not the killer?” he asked.

“No,” said Sherlock, utterly disappointed.

“Just an idiot delivering egg rolls?”

“Yes.”

The boy was taken aback. “Oi! Idiot?”

John’s anger coalesced and aimed itself at the boy. “Yes, ‘idiot’--what were you thinking? We could have killed you!”

A tad ashamed, the boy slipped the plastic teeth out of his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just havin’ a bit of fun. Usually it’s just soppy lovebirds out here.”

He glared at both of them. “Not madmen dropping from the bloody trees!”

John’s fist tightened.

“I’ll just go then,” the boy said. He took a step away from the cottage, but then seemed to remember his package, and reached for it.

“Leave the egg rolls,” John growled.

The boy paused, then bent and grabbed the bag. “That’ll be ten pounds.”

John goggled. “Ten pounds? For bloody egg rolls?”

With narrowed eyes, the boy clutched the bag to his chest. “Tip included.”

A silent war of wills between them left John muttering obscenities as he threw several pound notes at the kid and snatched the bag away. Rivulets of rain rolled down his neck, soaking his back. Oh, yes. Sherlock would owe him for this, and he’d have a grand time exacting payment.

Sherlock, for his part, looked only slightly chagrined as his dark locks stuck to his face and raindrops dripped from his nose. They watched as the boy scurried back into his car and started to pull away.

“Sherlock?” John turned. “ _Where_ , exactly, did you hear of these murders?”

With a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, Sherlock answered. “The county has an interesting website, and I was checking it out before we left. The Herefordshire Bl--”

“Wait,” John interjected, holding up a hand. “Did you say Herefordshire?”

“Yes. Your hearing is just fine, last I checked.”

John didn’t know whether to laugh or chuck Sherlock in the chin. He went for the laughing as he’d had enough brutality for one evening.

“Sherlock,” he snorted. “This is what happens when you don’t listen to me, AND you retreat to your mind palace on the way to our holiday.” The giggles bubbled up inside of him, escaped so he could hardly breathe. “Christ, Sherlock. We’re not in Herefordshire. We’re in blimey _Hertfordshire_.” He shook his head, and looked up into the dark sky, letting the rain wash over him. He shivered. It was time to go in.

“That can’t be right,” Sherlock whispered, sounding confused. John laughed harder. Oh, his payment for this would be sweet.

“Okay, genius. Get your lovely arse back inside.” John carried the bag close and followed Sherlock over the threshold. “I’m going to eat every single one of these egg rolls I’ve just purchased and then we’ll see about that reward you owe me.”

John delighted in the surprised little squeal Sherlock let out when John swatted his arse on the way in, smacking the wet fabric of Sherlock’s dressing gown which clung enticingly to his wonderfully round bottom.

John smiled and slammed the door shut behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments always appreciated. <3  
> (And if you're looking for more to read, I (Shiny) made a [fic index](http://shinysherlock.tumblr.com/post/105509221665) of my stuff by category which I hope is helpful.)


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